Words are Words (Dan Smith - Bastille Fanfiction)

Chapter 41

***
My head didn't turn back. I stayed focused on the route in front of me, now and again thinking back to ten minutes ago when I spoke to my mother as I strolled along the road by the sea front. I crossed my arms over my chest as the cool breeze flowed to those parts of my body which were of a colder temperature. The time was dead on seven. And I had decided to go home. My mind took me back again.

"W..what?" My mother stuttered.

"Home." I replied as I finally opened my bedroom door.

"You just got h-" She tried to speak eagerly.

"I..I don't know why I came, and besides I have work tomorrow." I lied. But I did have work the next week..which was the truth. The bitter truth.

My scuffed shoes finally brought me up to the train station as I stared at the people queuing up infront of me. I joined the line, pulling my train ticket out of my rucksack. I bought a return ticket back to my home for a one day trip in Brighton. At the time I was unsure as to why I did so, but now it was clear; it was as if my subconscious was telling me that I couldn't even last one night back to where I grew up. I couldn't last one night with my mother since things have changed. And they've changed. My God. They've changed. Even more since I've been gone, and it doesn't seem it's for the better.

***
*Next day*

It was strange being back in Jake's house. I hadn't been in a while, it seemed like he almost lived back at my apartment. Well not anymore.

I- or, Jake - I should say - had gotten me into a situation I most definitely did not want to be in at this moment in time - the thought alone of Jake touching any parts of my body would've made my spine shiver a few days ago, but now, I was..coping. The both of us were sat (not so comfortably) on the end of Jake's bed; our knees falling over the edge. I don't know why, why it would make the slightest difference to my feelings, but it seemed like he was kissing me, touching me, to make up for the terrible act of; yes, abusing... me. It was the first time I actually, finally admitted it to myself. The word itself made me no longer cope.

"What is it you want." I sighed, flinching my shoulder away from his wandering lips. He shuffled closer again. As if that wasn't a sign.

After a while, he finally replied, taking the hint.

"I'm sorry... I am. Sorry." He kept repeating, holding my face as he moved his body closer to me than I thought was humanly possible. It was too close. His words meant a mere nothing to me. Sorry just didn't cut it. It used to, yes, maybe when he accidently nudged the top of my arm when walking towards the door to storm out after an argument, even when I thought we had made up. That's where it all started. Thinking back made me feel worse. I felt my stomach churn a little, looking away in shame as his hands now fell to another part of me, stroking my hair lightly. I stood up, wanting to get away. I wondered why I came. This was incredibly, and utterly... pointless.

Just purely the act of standing was too far away for Jake to cope with. It's like he wanted to love me, or he wanted to...something, anything, with me. But he couldn't, because I wouldn't let him. I at least thought he would have gotten bored and tried to touch me, again, in one way or another by now. Even if we weren't together anymore.

Or so I thought..that is that he wasn't going to try and put his hands on me again..and I was indeed, very right.

He grabbed me by the hips, still sat down himself, causing me to push at his forceful hands at once. Of course, he didn't take it, lifting up my loose - I regretted that now - shirt. He suddenly stopped, hands moving at a slower pace down my stomach and over my hipbones. I breathed in, feeling anxious. I don't know why I didn't stop his actions. I don't know why I let him see the faint peachy coloured lines gathered on my skin.